


I'd be Home with You

by QueenForADay



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angels, Angst, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demons, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Relationship, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannigram - Freeform, Heaven, Hell, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sleepy Cuddles, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, With a hint of ANGSTY FEELS, it's all very fluffy, that are quickly replaced by fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 04:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: Will has a nightmare.





	I'd be Home with You

Salt stings inside his nostrils. That’s the first thing he notices.

Waves crash against the cliff-face, clutching on to and ripping off fistfuls of rock and drag them down into the ocean. The water beats and hammers against the wall of rock, chipping away the stone bit by bit. The impact of the waves shakes the ground underneath them. Even with the cobblestone surface of the house’s courtyard, the tremors of each hit against the cliff-face vibrate underneath their feet.

He takes the hand that’s outstretched towards him. It’s cold. That’s the second thing he notices. The air around him is biting at his skin. Rips in his shirt and trousers let nipping air in: gooseflesh ridges around his exposed skin. The drying blood on his face and arms is cold.

He doesn’t register the pain. _Severed nerve_ , he thinks, _or shock. Probably shock._

“This is all I ever wanted for you, Will.” There’s a pregnant pause between them. “For both of us.”

“It’s beautiful.” The words leave him and he’s rendered breathless. His voice doesn’t sound like his. His body slumps against Hannibal’s chest; feeble arms wrapping around the other man in an embrace. Energy is leaving him. _Shock wearing off_ , something in his head whispers, _that hole in your face is gonna start hurting soon._

But the pain never comes. Hannibal’s heart hammers within his chest. Will can feel it against his own. Everything fades away. The thundering claps of the ocean waves against the cliff fade away. Everything because deafeningly quiet. The only thing he can hear is their breathing – harsh and ragged.

Nose buried in Hannibal’s neck, he slowly wraps his arms around the other’s body. All of a sudden the waves below make his blood run cold. Something in his head whispers to him: the familiar voice that has spoken to him all of his life.

 _Let everything fall away_ , it coaxes in his ear. It feels like another person standing behind him, close enough to lean against his back and press their lips against the shell of his ear. Not for the first time, he wishes it would go away. That’s what makes his grip on the body against his tighten.

His arms are heavy when he raises them. He manages to bring one around Hannibal’s shoulders, the other staying firmly around his midsection. Pressed against the other man, their bodies blur together.

A rumbling crack shatters the silence around them.

The ground underneath them shakes and separate:  slowly pulling itself apart. Hannibal’s body slips away from his. Will tightens his arms around the other man as he’s tugged away.

 _No_. He doesn’t know if the word is thought or escapes him as an order. _Don’t take him away_. _Take me too_.

Tendrils that he recognises as fingers like talons grip into his shoulders, pulling him upwards. He tries pulling his weight down – making himself heavier for whatever is trying to drag him away. His arms are pulled outwards, stretching out like a crucifixion.

Hannibal’s body falls away from his. Through the crack, he sees Hannibal’s lifeless body hit and crash against jagged pillars and edges of rock as he falls down into the darkness below.

Hot tears stream down Will’s face, mixing with the blood still weeping from his cheek. Drops of red fall down and splatter on to the courtyard below. Fire boils inside his veins, chasing away the coldness of shock.

He looks up. Squinting his eyes, he sees a blackened figure blurred against too bright lights –

 

* * *

 

 

Will scrambles up on the bed. Hitting his spine against the wooden headboard of their bed, Will gasps loudly, shattering the nightly silence that had fallen on their home: a villa tucked away in Baracoa Cuba.

Chiyoh’s distorted voice had once come through a morphine-induced haze, assuring them (mostly Hannibal) that no one would search for them here. Cuba holds no extradition laws with the U.S. It’s a small reassurance that had buried and hidden itself in the back of Will’s mind: softly talking to him during days where he worries that someone, familiar or alien, would charge into their home and take them away from each other.

While panic still chills his blood, he looks around the room. Everything starts to look familiar again: clean, textured whitewashed walls that reflect soft moonlight that spills in from the opened balcony. Framed by sheer white curtains, they float with every breeze that comes in from the ocean. It’s nothing like what was in his dream. This air is warm as it licks over his exposed skin, wrapping around him like an embrace.

Eventually, his breathing matches the wind – slow and rhythmic. His heart starts slowing down too. There’s still a tremor in his hands, though. Raising a hand in front of his face, he frowns at how violent the tremors have become.

Nightmares have plagued him for years. He should be used to them. But the fall changed them. They started getting vicious in the way they haunt him at night. Anxious thoughts wait in the darkest corners of his mind, waiting for their moment to plague him while he sleeps.

The light sheets of the bed are wrapped around his legs. Heavier quilts lie crumpled on the floor, presumably kicked off during the night. The body beside him doesn’t seem to mind. Glancing over at the other side of the bed, the frown etched into his brow softens.

Maroon-coloured eyes watch him through the dim light. “What was it this time?” a soft voice asks. It’s heavy with sleep, but the eyes look alert. Will doesn’t know how long it’s been since he was startled awake, but he knows Hannibal might have woken up before him.

Will swallows a lump forming in his throat. “We...we were on the cliff again.” His works tremble over his breath. “We hadn’t fallen yet. I don’t think the thought even crossed my mind. But the...” he stumbles, looking down at his hands resting on his thighs, “the ground cracked, and we were separated...”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Hannibal slowly sitting up. The movement draws a soft grunt out of him. “Then what?” he coaxes. Something snickers in his mind. _A therapist through and through._

The sheets rustle and suddenly Hannibal’s body is warm against his. He shivers as the other man presses his chest against Will’s back, ignoring the cooling sweat sitting on his skin. He bunches the sheets in his hand, fidgeting with the fabric while he tries to piece his thoughts back together.

“You fell, or you were pulled down,” he says slowly, “like something was dragging you down by your feet.”

One of Hannibal’s hands gently rubs up and down Will’s arm. The other wraps around his side, tugging him back against the other man’s chest. “And you?”

He knows what Hannibal’s doing: purposely not saying a lot so he has to fill the silence. It’s lazy psychiatry, but it works. Once his thoughts are somewhat lined up, it pours out of him. He tells the other about his nightmare. An angel and a demon tries to pull them away – Hannibal to Hell and him to Heaven. Why he even qualifies to stand in front of those gates, he doesn’t understand. But it’s a question he chooses not to think about. He wants this nightmare to go away: all memory of it to leave their home.

Hannibal leans down, pressing thin lips against Will’s bared shoulder. While the nights are chilly, the air from the ocean and town at the bottom of the hill keep their villa’s room warm enough to sleep without much clothing. The skin that Hannibal kisses erupts into gooseflesh. Warmth pools in Will’s core. It’s warmth that chases the last of white-cold panic away.

He runs his fingers through his hair. His curls have gotten longer, now looking more like waves. Strands of hair stick out at odd angles, with a couple sticking to the back of his neck and temples from drying sweat. He must look like a mess. At least there wasn’t a shirt on to sweat through, he thinks vaguely. When he looks over his shoulder, he bites the inside of his cheek – the side without the line of raised flesh.

Hannibal’s eyes are searching his. He reaches out with steady fingers and combs Will’s hair back. The feeling of the other man’s fingers against his scalp sends a shiver running through Will’s spine. Outside, the ocean continues to sway underneath the bright moonlight.

“Sleep,” Hannibal says simply. For a man of many words, he doesn’t have a lot tonight. Within a couple of seconds, Hannibal manages to coax Will to lie down again – this time, plastered to the other’s side, with one arm resting across Hannibal’s stomach while Will’s head rests comfortably on the other’s shoulder. Will’s eyes look down the exposed expanse of Hannibal’s torso. He runs his fingers over Hannibal’s midsection – a mottled scar from the Dragon’s gun. Their bodies are marred by red or faded white scar lines.

“If you were to ever leave this world,” Hannibal sighs, turning his head to press his nose into Will’s curls, “it would be with me. We’d walk into the afterlife together.” The tips of Hannibal’s fingers gently run along the ridge of Will’s spine: the touch easing the remaining tension set in his muscles.

Eventually, Will’s eyelids droop closed. Sleep tugs at him. Before he slips off for the rest of the night, he drags his hand over to rest on Hannibal’s chest. The rhythmic beating of the other man’s heart gives him enough reassurance that he’s still here, with Will, that he can leave consciousness behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, no, I didn't know how to end it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Title inspired by Hozier's "In A Week". Very good song, give it a listen! Very Hannigram (read: morbid).
> 
> Tumblr: yourqueenforayear.tumblr.com - Drop by for a chat or to see my eventual descent into madness. Either or. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos gladly welcomed!


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